Page 50 of Hacking His Code
I swallow hard, trying to come up with the right words that would show her how serious I am without sounding crazy. Simply telling her the truth, that after only forty-eight hours I’m completely smitten by her, would probably scare Ari, especially with her experiences with men.
But I can’t let this moment pass because I don’t know if I’ll ever have the courage to have this conversation again.
“It’s just that—”
My phone vibrates, and I lose my train of thought. I look down to see an email that makes my stomach twist with dread—good old Aunt Lucy.
Without thinking, I open the message, frowning when I realize that it contains exactly what I was afraid of: demands.
It takes me a minute to realize Ari is still looking at me expectantly, though I know the moment for heartfelt confessions has passed.
“I’m going to have to tend to some business,” I mutter.
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m not sure how long this will take me, but there’s plenty of food in the fridge, and if there’s something you need, you can use the intercom button and someone will assist you.”
In ten minutes, I’m dressed. In twenty, I’m out the door, making my way down to my car.
“Where would you like to go,” my driver asks.
“The FBI.”
Arinessa
Findingsomeone in today’s world, with modern technology, shouldn’t be that hard. Everyone leaves a mark.
Which is why after three days of searching, I’ve come to the conclusion that Lucy Whitmore is dead.
Remembering my brunch, I went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and woke up alone in Hunter’s bed, him never returning from yesterday’s business.
My body missed Hunter, however illogical that sounds. I tossed and turned all night, craving his scent. Everything about that man screams: WARNING!, but he does something to my soul. He makes it sing.
But now’s not the time to dwell on men I’ll never have.
Come on, Lucy…
I tap my foot impatiently under the table, eager for any break in the case. I may never be able to recover her from whatever shallow grave she’s in, but if I can provide Hunter with new information, maybe there will be some kind of constellation prize in it for me.
A knock sounds on the door, startling me, and I check my phone to see I have two hours until my brunch rendezvous.
I look through the peephole at a rainbow-haired Neon in an audacious orange and green dress.
I open the door and pull her inside the suite. “Thank God you’re here!”
Her face contorts into a concerned expression. “So, that hair of yours…it really has a mind of its own, doesn’t it?”
“And that mouth of yours really doesn’t know when to shut up, amirite?”
“Touché!”
We proceed to the bedroom, and Neon grabs all the toiletries and cosmetics we used the other day, setting them out on the vanity.
She presses the shampoo and conditioner bottles into my hands. “Go shower while I look through the outfits.”
My stomach twists with anxiety. Yesterday, a quick Google search told me that the shampoo alone is $240 for only twelve ounces, which is more than the price of every shampoo bottle I’ve ever owned put together because my poor ass doesn’t spend more than two dollars a bottle.
This is nothing to him. Just wash your damn hair and get on with it.
